


Selected Seasons from the Watson-Holmes Household

by Selskia



Series: Drabbles, Ficlets, and Other Short Works [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Other, Parentlock, SO MUCH FLUFF, Slice of Life, Snarky Banter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-02
Updated: 2014-05-02
Packaged: 2018-01-21 14:30:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1553696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selskia/pseuds/Selskia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snapshots of life, by the season.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Selected Seasons from the Watson-Holmes Household

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



**Spring**

It was late. Post-case.

Mary snored slightly as she slept, Sherlock snuffling at her hair as he did the same, spooned around her small form on the couch. John was still awake -- unlike the others, he actually managed to get some rest last night, Mary covering for him as a conductor of Sherlock's genius as said genius worked through his third straight night. So he was still awake, adrenaline still coursing through his veins, not yet at the inevitable crash.

He sipped at his tea, watching his partners sleep. God, he was a lucky bastard. Not one, but two people loved him, and he loved them dearly in return. And better yet, after a few months, his partners had come to share a great affection for one another. Not quite the same kind of love that arced and sparked with John, but something softer and still precious. Something growing.

Sherlock murmured and shifted, further entwining his limbs about Mary, and John couldn't help but smile. Despite all his standoffish-ness, the man was a limpet when it came to sleep. While Mary was neatly curled up, arms to her chest and knees bent, Sherlock's limbs wrapped around Mary's body.

His dark form contrasted quite nicely with her pale one, John thought. Where Sherlock was brooding, with his saturated clothing and dark curls, Mary was all pastels and light. Sherlock, brilliant and shocking yet secretly kind. Mary, quick and caring yet secretly devious. Contrast after contrast, yet they were both completely and utterly perfect.

Yes, John was lucky. There was so, so much love in this room. His heart felt fit to burst.

**Summer**

Shirley liked her parents.

All three of them. Daddy's strict but also the most playful of the lot. Papa sometimes ignored her, but he never, ever talked down to her. Mum was a constant in her life, reliable where her fathers sometimes failed. Plus, Mum made the best food. Takeaway was delicious, of course it was, but Mum's mashed potatoes were the best and Mum's spaghetti was the best and everything Mum cooked was always so tasty.

(Aunty Hudson made the most amazing baked goods, though.)

Shirley liked 221B.

She liked the way the main room overflowed with Papa's things, the way Mum kept the kitchen all nice and tidy, and the way Daddy moved between the two extremes. Admittedly, Papa's stuff was always the most interesting of all, but also what Daddy and Mum always kept her away from. So she sometimes made do with sitting in Daddy's comfy and squishy chair and staring at the bubbling flasks from afar.

(She named the bat on the mantle Boris, and the skull she called Andrew.)

Shirley liked adventures.

When it wasn't too dangerous -- like a theft, or an affair, something benign from a client -- Papa would take Shirley along and they'd play detectives. Mum tried, but she didn't have the wondrous imagination for games beyond the likes of hide-and-seek. Daddy, though, Daddy was amazing. He'd pick her up and suddenly she was a dragonrider, doing battle against the tree monsters with a mighty stick-sword. Or he'd growl on all fours, play-attacking the famous archaeologist Shirley Watson as she searched for treasure, giggling all the while.

(Papa always gave her odd looks when she and Daddy played pirates.)

Shirley was, and continues to be, a happy child.

**Autumn**

"Mary!" John called, "Could you set up a sterile field, love? Our favourite idiot's gone and got himself stabbed again."

Frustration with an undercurrent of fondness, but requiring proper medical attention: something minor, probably just a few stitches. Right then, sterile field and med kit.

Mary finished wiping down the table of their makeshift surgery just as the sound of a whining Sherlock and fussing John grew loud with the opening of the door.

"This is why people go to A & E, Sherlock!"

"I have a perfectly capable doctor-"

"-who doesn't have a full complement of supplies since there's a total git who keeps using them in experiments-"

"-that solve cases, John! Surely your scalpels-"

"-and my saline solution, and my burn kit, and my-"

"Boys!" Mary yelled over the bickering, only barely suppressing a smile, "I believe we have a Sherlock to stitch back together?"

"Right," John said as he went to the sink to wash up, "Knife fight, suspect-"

"Murderer!"

"-murderer managed to get Sherlock in the leg. Uncomplicated wound, but I don't want to think about where that knife has been."

"Daddy? Papa?" a small voice called from upstairs.

"Don't worry, Shirl, I'll be up in a few minutes," Sherlock said.

"Can't you call her by her full name?" John muttered. Mary giggled; she hadn't been around for the Janine situation, but apparently it had been quite disturbing and involved a similar nickname.

"Brat," Mary said affectionately, planting a kiss on Sherlock's cheek.

"Well, you're the one that decided 'Sherlock' wasn't a girl's name, but 'Shirley' was close enough."

"And I regret that decision every damn day!"

There was a shocked sound from above. " _Papa!!_ "

Mary couldn't help it. She just laughed and laughed and laughed.

**Winter**

"Breathe, Mary," Sherlock said.

"I've done this-"

Mary's words were cut off with a contraction, her face twisting with pain. Breathe. In, in, in; out, out, out, out. Don't hyperventilate, don't give up, and-

"-before, you know," Mary finished with a snarl.

"Breathe, Mary," Sherlock simply said again, his pale fingers paler than normal as they held her hand in a death grip.

"It's worse when it's yours, isn't it?" John murmured from the other side of her. He smiled.

"You know perfectly well that I am fine. Pay attention to your wife."

John reached a hand across, using his fingers to turn the defiantly bored-looking yet secretly-panicking face of his partner away from Mary. More smiling; he remembered when he himself was wringing his hands in a panic as Mary birthed Shirley just a few years ago.

"John," Sherlock frowned, trying and failing to look annoyed instead of relieved, "Mary -- who I might add is YOUR WIFE --"

"Our wife," John smirked.

But Sherlock barrelled on. "-is bearing a child. Even if approximately half of the biological material contained within her is not yours, she is the one you should be comforting, not-"

John silenced him with a quick, gentle kiss.

"It's fine, Sherlock-"

"But John, you-"

Mary silenced them both with a tug on each man's hand and a glare.

"Boys, loves, I hate to kill the moment but- Christ this hurts- you know, _I'm having a baby_."

**A New Year**

Sherlock stared down at the tiny being in his arms, eyes wide and utterly still as the little girl slept. Mary was still dealing with the afterbirth and John was helping her through it, which left Sherlock alone with it. This. Her.

"Desdemona Alice Holmes," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks to my BFF, who gave me the idea for Sherlock's child. I originally was just going to have one Watson kid, but she gave me the idea of balancing out the triad such that each man had a kid and, well, this happened.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed, thanks for reading!


End file.
